


Jewels

by WahlBuilder



Series: Languages of Love [9]
Category: Mars: War Logs, The Technomancer (Video Game)
Genre: Dandolo/Melvin Mancer (implied), Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:56:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21583390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Alan works on a special piece.
Series: Languages of Love [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1277777
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Jewels

Alan reaches the count of three hundred in his head and flicks the lights on. He prefers working by touch, but this time the proper coloration is important. He frowns at the warm orange-tinted light, puts it out, and finds another switch. He has carried his full light stand here, to be able to measure the effect under different lighting conditions. No detail is unimportant.

Then he looks at the piece he is working on.

It is unsatisfactory.

He flicks through several lamps. He’s had to content himself with only approximations: lighting conditions in the Palace and across the city are very variable. At 1500K, 2300K, 2700K and 4000K the piece looks fine, though not ideal. But at 3400K it is a total failure. He picks the test specimens, even though he already can see it is a disaster, but due diligence requires he check _how much_ of a disaster it is.

His verdict: totally.

From a distance, it might just look good enough, and under certain lighting conditions it is slightly better than good enough — but this won’t do.

He wants to throw things around, break the whole piece, crumble it... But he restrains himself, reins in his temper and pulls his field tighter about himself. He _isn_ _’t_ going to throw a tantrum. No. He isn’t that, anymore. There are people now in his life who _would_ notice. There are people who care in the best way.

He leans on outstretched hands over the piece. So he’d have to start again. Scrape the ruined enamel off and mix it again, and account for humidity and time better in the kiln. It is worth the effort.

_They_ are worth the effort.

Dandolo knows a member of the Mancer family has been on the balcony recently. Not Melvin—Dandolo wouldn’t mistake him for anyone. Not Roy—he is impossible to mistake with his cousins. Ian and Connor wouldn’t leave such a trace, they are too polite and too experienced for it. Zachariah’s charge tastes differently, and isn’t this spiky. Andrew is very familiar to Dandolo also.

He circles the balcony, tracing the steps of the guest, the charge controlled but flaring now and again. In excitement? Fear?

The traces lead him to the alcove, of all things. Nothing looks out of place: the drapes still thrown up, over the frame, blankets folded neatly—Melvin’s work. Pillow arrang— Ah.

Dandolo knows already that it can’t be anything dangerous: the alcove is perfectly visible for the guards, and they would have told him if something was amiss. Dandolo sits down and reaches across the bedding to the farthest pillow. On the green fabric rests a small piece.

He takes it in his hand. Then turns to the light, marvelling at the astonishing work.

It is smaller than half of his palm; two birds fitting into a mirror shape, like two swirls, two _boteh_ , interlocked, entwined. They are a raven and a peacock—a colourful match. Dandolo notices that they are set in different metals: the peacock is outlined in gold, warm in the glow; the raven is set in magnificent silver. The thinnest barriers of metal set apart individual sections filled with enamel of various tints and shades. Even the raven’s long feathers all have a subtle sheen of purple, blue, green—set exactly in places mirroring the same tints on the peacock. It is a magnificent piece, beautiful in its mathematical precision. He turns it around, and discovers pins on the back of each bird, and a hook set by each head. Curious, he pushes—the two birds come apart. They can be worn as a set of brooches, or pendants—or interlocked firmly, impossible to separate unless one does it in a specific way. It must have taken the master-artist—and Dandolo knows who it is—days, if not weeks, to create this beauty.

He has encountered other things Alan has created for other people: Zachariah looking for his staff that had suddenly disappeared, then finding it with finest engravings; Ian’s jacket turning up with magnificent embroidery of wings on the back; a cuff bracelet for Niesha that hadn’t been in her collection before. Alan would bristle if confronted about it—but Dandolo thinks he could just use his advantage of age and of not being a blood relation to show his appreciation.

It is, certainly, worth it.


End file.
